Operation Veronica
by Le Dark Wolf
Summary: This is a fan sequel to Operation Raccoon City. The time-paradox caused by the death of Leon S. Kennedy allows Osmund Saddler and the Los Iluminados to effectively take over the United States. U.S.S. Delta Team 'Wolfpack' is reactivated to stop their advance. To do this, they must make use of old friends and foes alike, but most of all –they must recover a secret Project: Veronica.
1. Branches

Chapter 01: 'Branches'

 **Eighteen Years Ago  
** **Lonsdale Train Yards [Raccoon City]**

In the haze of her walking night terrors, she was back in that forsaken city, like she always was, always in a sense-would be. And that cop was there. That fucking rookie cop that ruined everything, by implying that there had been another choice. There never was, and there never would be, as the universe operated by an order that was well above her pay grade.

Karena LesProux gripped his face. She finally had her claws on that wretched little policeman in blue. Her gloved fingers slowly made their way to his eyes. The young man was sweating profusely. Sweat and blood stained the 'RPD' logo of his uniform. He struggled against her, weak but determined. She had him pinned down in this empty place. Nothing was going to stop her from ending his pathetic life-

"Stop struggling, you little shit!"

NOTHING- not his ponytailed girlfriend, the American soldiers, the monsters, the beasts, the traitors, nothing was going to stop Lupo from snuffing the life out of her prey.

"MIEZ-VOUS MOTHERFUCKER!"

And then she plunged her thumbs into his eye sockets, gouging him.

=[]=

 **21: 45 Pacific Standard Time  
** **East Los Perdidos [Present Day]**

"Mother Wolf, you alright?"

Code-Named 'Vector' was pointing his Howa Type-89 assault rifle at Karena 'Lupo' LesProux. The French woman had an episode again. It was Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. Vector couldn't blame her. Sure, it was unprofessional, but seeing the things she went through, it was completely understandable that Lupo was a bit… mentally strained.

"I'm alright." Karena breathed through her respirator.

Her hands were gripped around an eyeless enemy soldier. She had gouged out the poor bastard's eyes.

"Get back." Vector motioned the team leader.

The French woman pushed herself off, quickly withdrawing from her would-be prey. A second later, she un-holstered her side arm, producing a 5.7mm Fabrique Nationale d'Armes de Guerre-Herstal Five-Seven pistol. Chances after all, were for armatures. Not soon thereafter, the enemy soldier's face began to violently contort. Biological transformation/ mutations were such an ugly affair. Flesh buckled, a precursor to a putrid explosion of puss and bone, as the once eye-less man's entire head regenerated into a cancerous-appearing lump with tentacles and blade-like appendages.

"Not a zombie."

Lupo raised her firearm and adjusted her combat stance. Her iron sights were aligned and there had been the beginnings of a crisp trigger pull, when a torrent of 5.56 rounds suddenly decapitated the mutant. The creature lurched forward, arms flailed about, before it slumped to its knees, in almost in religious reverence to the black-clad commandos.

"Team Leader, do you need me to take over?"

Lupo holstered her sidearm, and then proceeded to recover her assault rifle.

"I am okay."

Vector reached out to offer a reassuring touch to the Frenchwoman's left shoulder. He was rudely smacked away. The Japanese Umbrella operative turned his head away, the cloak of his battle dress uniform hiding his already featureless face.

"Do not touch me soldat. Do not question me. I am not your mentor. I am not your 'Wolf Mother'. I am your team leader."

Lupo glared at Vector through her military respirator, unlike the S-10 gasmask he had on, one could see the venom in her eyes through her full-face visor. Raccoon City was eighteen years ago. It's been nearly two decades. Though she hasn't physically aged that much due to her time in 'storage', her eyes held the being of someone that's been living in anguished fear and disgust for far too long.

"Tell the rest of the team to regroup on me. Then contact HQ for our next set of orders."

Vector provided a prompt nod.

"Orders understood, Team Leader."

A slight worried sigh escaped her mask, and Lupo goes to inspect the magazines of her QBZ-97 assault rifle. To the far side of her, were the remnants of an enemy military compound. Crates of equipment were sprinkled haphazardly, industrial tents ripped to shreds, smoking vehicles overturned, all right next to an unpleasant looking collection of craters. All of this, alongside the charred and mangled bodies everywhere clued in what had transpired as a danger-close artillery strike.

"They've salvaged something." The Frenchwoman mentioned to no one in particular.

"Come again, Team Leader?"

"Never mind that, Vector."

Lupo smelled the V8 turbo diesel engine through her respirator, even before it appeared. She welcomed the new smell. Its scent was far superior in taste and in morale to the charred plagued dead bodies that were seemingly everywhere now. It assaulted her olfactory receptors mercilessly until it had even hid the sweat and stale breath trapped within the confines of her mask. Lupo, the Wolf relished this, if only for ever the second.

The High Mobility Multipurpose Wheel Vehicle (HMMWV) or Humvee was a military four-wheel light truck produced by AM General. Its purpose was a utility vehicle for use with the American military. Often they had crew-served weapon mounted on top. This particular Humvee had a 7.62 NATO M60 machinegun emplacement. Operating it was a small, nearly petite Japanese girl.

Christine Yamata, call-sign: 'Four-Eyes' saluted smartly as the Humvee came to a sudden stop right in front of the fireteam. A visible amount of smoke trailed her manned LMG (light machine gun). Like Lupo, the Japanese girl didn't really age due to the cryogenics. But unlike Lupo she seemed permanently upbeat. She was still the kid, her eyes gleeful at the strange turn of events that had befallen the world.

"Team Leader, situation reports as follows: heavy caliber firearms remain highly effective against 'Plaga' enhanced foot mobiles. Preliminary observation and investigation has revealed little about their communication methods. No digital, mechanical, or biological method to their command and control structure was found."

Vector got up from his crouched position, finger withdrawing from the earpiece under his hood.

"HQ figured it would be a bust." The illusive Japanese man was reporting in too.

"This isn't a total failure! We've recovered a lot of important data points on the enemy!" said Four-Eyes. The Japanese girl was the field scientist of the fireteam. Although not exactly disagreeable, she was oftentimes found in opposition of the team's popular opinion. It was as if she operated on a completely different line of thinking. This was likely due to her rumored 'condition' of being autistic.

"Seems like a failure enough to Me." said another man, in agreement with Vector. It was the driver of the Humvee. This man had seen better days. Previously, he was a pilot in the Umbrella Corporation's elite Security Services. Now he was a footslogger on a fireteam, acting as the unit's vehicle specialist. 'LONE WOLF', that was his call-sign. Now he was just Jack. He opted to use his regular civilian moniker, given the fact that there were too many 'wolves' within the Wolfpack.

"Not my place to disagree with HQ." Vector had continued. "And we have new tasking."

"What is it?" Lupo wondered out loud for the rest of the team's benefit.

"We have a HVT extraction. It's a High Valued Target, an Umbrella Executive."

"Perhaps Umbrella's High Command will give us use of IOWA's labs!"

The rest of Fireteam Delta eyed Four-Eyes' abrupt comment, before resuming their conversation.

"Our gracious employers are re-tasking us to Downtown, Los Perdidos." Vector came off as if nobody had interrupted him. "The target is male, attached to the White Umbrella Division. He's currently holed at the Exchange Night Club on Spring Street."

"But enemy forces are expected to try and take the city tomorrow." Lupo worried.

"It doesn't matter, Mother Wolf. These are orders from HQ. It means that U.S.S. Command and SOCOM are in complete agreement in this task."

"We have transport at least." Jack chirped in.

"But there would be less bio-organic weaponry to discover!"

Four-Eyes was still floating around within her own little world.

"It's going to be another long night ladies and gentlemen." Vector shrugged.

"It is always a long night."

With that, Lupo turns around to stare at the heart of Los Perdidos City from their eastern position on the 710 freeway, near the 60 intersect. The enemy had been using America's major freeway system as their main supply route, to invade and to seize territory and people in whatever inhuman goal they had schemed. The war has finally made its way from the East Coast to Southern California. It torched palm trees, burned the barrios, and had compelled what surviving refugees to flee towards a massive evacuation happening off the Western United States.

"Resupply off the enemy dead, repack, get some MRE (Meals Ready to Eat) military rations into your systems. We're moving out in fifteen." Lupo ordered. There was no acknowledgement. It wasn't required. They were not an official military unit. These lost souls were what remained of the Umbrella Corporation's Security Service. They were just dogs of war.

Before them, hanging over Downtown Los Perdidos was a dark moon. Smog, dust, and clouds moved to try and cover it up. It hung ominously over the city, a bad omen with the promise of much more violence to come. It had come to this, but how? It was a nightmare of the first order. Lupo found herself questioning what series of event had led to the near complete takeover of the United States, and what seemed like the onset of a Third World War.

=[]=

 **The Story Thus Far….**

It was all just rumors. Nothing is known for certain. There were rumors of the United States Government being infiltrated by a cult. No, nothing like the radical Islamists from the Middle East, this had been something darker, something… different. The running theory was that they were European, maybe Spain, maybe England. They convinced, maybe mind controlled even, the political elites. First they passed laws that benefitted their coffers, and then their political power. They were subtle at first. The erratic government changes were blamed on bi-partisan politics. Intelligence agencies believed that Russian hacking was influencing government and social institutions. Of course, there was opposition, strikes, riots, and everything that came with it. Everything had made it easy for them to enact martial law.

But the Great Enemy wasn't revealed until much later. Many years down the line. Long after the supposed government tried to enact a new heavy handed 'patriot act' which invaded the privacy of everyone in the United States. It was long after the appearance of a new and alien religion, that of 'Illumination'. Even when portions of the United States Military took up arms against its own people, utilizing everything from tanks to monsters, was he still cloaked in silence.

It wasn't until the 'W-Event'. The trigger that sent the entire world to war, did he reveal himself. He ordinated himself an Emperor, the messenger of a new era, the prophet of a new faith, he promised to baptized the entire world a-new, and in the image of an undying great god. He was, and he is known to all as:

"Lord Saddler."

That was why Lupo was awakened from Cryogenic Container U-52 at level 10 of the HIVE complex.


	2. Rumors

Chapter 02: 'Rumors'

 **22: 20 Pacific Standard Time  
** **U.S. Army Checkpoint Echo**

"Was it not more efficient for us to have simply engaged and destroyed them? The military are delaying the competition of our mission." Four-Eyes complained to nobody in particular.

"For the last time, Four-Eyes, we're on the same fucking side!" Vector was annoyed, but this was difficult to observe for most people. However, if one paid attention to his body language, the Japanese man was quite on edge.

"I am just reiterating the fact that this is a waste of time." The field scientist proclaimed.

"I am Jack's supreme lack of giving two fucks."

Lupo eyed the 'LONE WOLF' from outside the Humvee. Apparently, 'Jack' had a sense of humor.

"What can I say? I'm a fan of films!"

Lupo unhooked her respirator and then proceeded to take it completely off. She took a deep breath to fill her lungs. The air was not quite clean, not quite fresh, but anything is better than chemically filtered breathing. She caught her team examining her face. Four-eyes seemed to have something of a blush on her face that was not obscured from her filtration mask.

A small platoon of army soldiers had their weapons pointed at the U.S.S. fireteam. Most brandished assault rifles. But a few in the platoon had machineguns. One was even pointing an AT4 anti-tank weapon at the Humvee. Lupo had disembarked from the team's newly acquired vehicle to sort out the matter of getting her men cleared for entry into the heart of the city.

"Sergeant!" the Frenchwoman had called out. "How long, until my men can get through?"

The American soldier trying to process this cluster-fuck of a standard operating procedure blundered a bit. He was military police. A rear-echelon motherfucker-type usually tasked with administrative duties. Dire circumstances had placed him with frontline troops.

"Any second now, please standby."

Despite the seeming horseplay of fireteam U.S.S. Delta, they had no illusions of their situation. If the American soldiers really wanted to, they could have wiped out the entire fireteam, and that would be the end of that. Umbrella Security Services was the private, nearly commercial version of tier-1 Special Forces. Sure, they had better training, usually better equipment, but they often relied on unconventional and surprise attacks to ensure victory. Caught in the open, no matter how formidable they were on paper, fireteam U.S.S. Delta would be lucky to even fire a few shots in anger before being mercilessly decimated.

"Très bien."

The leader of the Umbrella fireteam understood why the precaution. Rumor had it, that Delta completely decimated the Special Forces detachment that was sent into Raccoon City all those years ago. Popular opinion was that Delta left none of the then-enemy Special Forces soldiers alive. They shot, stabbed, and stomped right through them. A popular 'fiction' novel, published by Alyssa Ashcroft, an eye-witness survivor of Raccoon City, wrote about a team of shadowy private security contractors having had been glimpsed during the incident. Raccoon City was a hush-hush affair, and for the longest time, the entire incident was considered an elaborate hoax for an extremely unfortunate nuclear 'accident'.

Unfortunately there was some truth in the rumors. The W-Event had proven that there were monsters. Umbrella had indeed been conducting human experiments. The implication was that the United States Government has always known. Rather it cared or not was subject to debate. Hence, there was the need for caution. Even what remained of the United States military was wary of Umbrella and their intentions.

After what seemed like hours, but in reality was but mere moments, the Sergeant had gotten a call.

"Alright, guys make way! Let them through!"

He waved at them. The U.S. Army checkpoint into Downtown Los Perdidos was allowing Lupo's fireteam through. With great hesitation, elements of the platoon lowered their weapons and repositioned themselves as a measure to not instigate confrontation, or what had been on everyone's mind- battle.

"Make way guys, let them through!" The Sergeant continued.

Delta's Humvee crept through Checkpoint Echo's gates outside of the local Chinatown and towards the heart of the sprawling city in front of them.

"I never liked these lab rats!" Four-Eyes too, continued to complain.

"Never mind them." Lupo kept walking in pace with the Humvee as they advanced together. The driver, Jack had noticed this and had leaned over to unlock the passenger door. With a casual demeanor, the French Woman opened the vehicle's far front right door and got into its passenger seat. She then slammed the door shut, taking care not to hit her rifle in the process.

"Wolfpack, condition Yellow: check your guns enfants. We may have to defend ourselves soon."

 **22: 55 Pacific Standard Time  
** **East 4** **th** **Street, Downtown Los Perdidos**

Earlier, there had been foot traffic everywhere. There were hundreds if not thousands upon thousands of refugees trying to leave or enter the downtown area. Looters made an appearance. So did the usual street hooligans and their antics. The military tried to keep some semblance of order, but it was quickly breaking down. All of the antics going about only served to annoy Lupo's fireteam.

Jack wanted to run some of the refugees over. They impeded their progress.

Four-Eyes wanted to engage the looters. They were potentially dangerous.

Vector advocated advancing on foot. It might have been faster.

Lupo only seriously entertained the last opinion.

But now, there was nothing. It was a gradual affair. For a while they were only dealing with redundant decaying city blocks with a massive overflowing of humanity. Then the people began to trickle into pools of vagabonds. The Humvee soon passed them on by too. That's when only the brown brick, sandstone and terra cotta detailed buildings that had been built late 19th century remained. Downtown Los Perdidos suddenly became completely emptied of all souls, save the Wolfpack.

"I don't like this." Jack had said.

They couldn't have had ventured that far away from the military check point. There was nothing, save the dance of a few distant fires, and what seemed like trash being pushed softly by the wind. It felt like a haunted version of the Wild West.

"Wolfpack, be alert. Something's up."

The French woman ordered. Her assault rifle positioned out from her passenger door's window. Vector was way ahead of her. He had his Howa ready from the backseat, scanning the rear-side, ready to turn any openings in the back of the Humvee into a collection of fighting holes.

"I copy, Mother Wolf." Four-Eyes perked as she spun the M-60 emplacement around in search of targets.

Jack remained silent. The driver had his own job to do.

"How many times, must I repeat myself? I do not enjoy being called Mother-"

"Unknown contact, one-o-clock, far right blue building." Jack called out.

"Roger that." The rest of the fireteam immediately turned their attention to the possible contact.

There had been nothing. The Humvee continued its course, rounding a corner.

"6th Floor, third window from left corner, facing us." Jack pressed.

Lupo dropped her assault rifle, allowing its tactical sling to grasp onto her and started immediately to dig into the utility MOLLE pouch that was attached to her left hip. An intense second later, she took out, what could only be identified as a firearm magnifier attachment. It was a Trijicon ACOG scope, meant to be tied down to a Picatinny rail. They were usually present on modern assault rifles. The French Woman pressed it against her dominant eye and went to check for the suspected contact that was on the 6th floor.

"You see it, Mother Frog?"

"Be quiet, Jack. Keep your eyes on the road." Scowled Lupo.

"What the fuck?"

There was indeed a contact. It was exactly where Jack said it was. As the vehicle turned, and Lupo eyed the third window of the 6th floor of that blue building, the French woman had caught the eerie glimpse of some strange man. He was staring out the window, completely naked. Paler than the moon, large and unkempt, he seemed like a deranged serial killer that likely had a rape dungeon of some sort. But the most offsetting thing about this odd man was his smile. It was BIG. From ear to ear, he grinned widely, as his head clearly turned towards Lupo's direction. They were being watched.

"Contact!" Vector warned through his gasmask. "Six-o-clock, top windows!"

"We've got tangos!" Jack said, attempting to sound calm.

"Possible Modified-T hostiles!" Four-Eyes informed. A moment ago, they had been alone. But now, they were joined by an entire legion of smiling freaks. They all had that eerily blank expression, with wide grinning teeth exposed. Some were completely naked, hyperventilating as if on an illegal substance; others were armed with makeshift pointed weapons. Some of these smiling people even had guns.

"Fireteam, be advised: WEAPONS FREE! I repeat: WEAPONS FREE! Engage them before these bastards get too close. I don't want them surrounding us! Jack, get us out of here!"

Without the need for further instructions, Four-Eyes charged the M60 and proceeded to fire upon the horde.

=[]=

Like a tidal wave of crazed flesh, chipped finger nails, and makeshift blunt weapons, the crazed horde of people rushed Fireteam Delta. Jack tried to do some fancy driving, first by expertly swerving around the oncoming masses, then by attempting to plow through them. Rounds were fired and ammunition was spent by everyone else, but this was to no avail. There were simply too many of the motherfuckers. The horde simply caught the Humvee as it made a turn by a bookstore, and working as one just flipped the damn thing over.

"Wolfpack, WE ARE LEAVING!"

Lupo never lost her shit. Not when she shot her teammates that have gone traitor. Not when she lost her young- no, not now. The French Woman did indeed lose her shit from time to time, but she merely mentally compartmentalized it. She forced all her doubt, all her worries, all her pain and lost into a deep section of her inner mind, and allowed her training to completely take over. It felt like a dream. She watched herself, as she crawled out of the flipped Humvee's passenger side window faced up. A few rounds were fired to keep the attackers at bay as she withdrew to the top of the vehicle, now facing the wall of the bookstore. There had been a steady stream of fire, pushing the crowd away. Four-Eyes, seemingly a bit disoriented, unhooked the M60 and joined her. Vector made his way out of the turret on all fours, only to return back to the opening to drag out a bloodied and perhaps dead Jack.

"Fighting withdraw! Vector, get Jack into the bookstore!"

"Roger that, Wolf Mother!"

Vector shoulder slammed into the door of the bookstore and immediately broke through. He then proceeded to continue dragging Jack into the facility as the two other women covered him.

"Stop calling me that, Vector!"

Four-Eyes positioned the M60 on top of a flipped blue mail box and unloaded on the approaching smiling men. The approaching creatures were not completely mindless. Some got out of the way, as others ducked for cover. Still, there was something horribly wrong with them. They were fearless, relentless, and mad. Some made rude gestures, other screamed obscene taunts about Four-Eyes, about what they would do to her if they got their hands onto her petite Japanese body.

"Engaging hostiles, recommend extracting, we will not survive this." Four-Eyes reported. The Japanese girl was not on the same caliber as the rest of the team. She was a field scientist. Her expertise was in navigating the team through the biological entanglements of modern warfare. Still, Four-Eyes did an admirable job. She had been observing and learning from the rest of the fireteam, expertly timing her shots to not overheat the light machine gun.

Lupo forced herself to completely regain mental composure. The burden of command compelled her to do so. She took out a new STANAG magazine, and dropped the emptied one from her bullpup rifle. It was an awkward tactical reload, as the Type-97 was an export rifle with horrible ergonomic design. But it had been the only thing available in Umbrella's armory that was close to the French FAMAS. Supposedly this was due to the fact that the European mainland was being invaded by the Great Enemy as well.

"Disengage and support Vector's withdrawal!" Motioned Lupo in between shots of her assault rifle. She covered Four-Eyes, as she un-holstered her Steyr TMP submachine gun and began to make her way into the building. Lupo thought about trying to take control of the M60, when she realized that by the time she got into position, the horde would have overwhelmed her. From the comments of the crazed masses about her being a frog and how they could make her insides jump, the Frenchwoman inwardly resolved to NOT getting caught, alive or otherwise. Nearly half a second after Four-Eyes went into the bookstore, Lupo too began making her fighting withdrawal.

As the French woman entered, she eyed the name of the place- 'The Last Bookstore'.

"I believe the Americans meant 'Last Stand'."

There was static coming through Lupo's comms. She heard Vector through the ear piece.

"Team Leader, I have gone on ahead and requested support from HQ."

"What sort of support?" Had asked Lupo. She ran into the main room of the bookstore, closing its inner gates on the thrashing approaching horde. It was just in time as she smashed several fingers. Not taking any chances, the French woman continued to keep her rifle leveled at these deranged people. The bullpup was getting heavy. Lupo knew it was a sign of fatigue.

"That's right. It's going to be a bit, 'Danger Close' ma'am. I think the weapons controller on the other side mentioned a shore bombardment." Vector continued.

"You can't be serious. What is HQ thinking? Was it a shore bombardment with missiles?"

"Negative. Confirming, guns, guns, gun. To be precise: Battleship Guns."

"Either the Americans are getting classical on us, or we are all in desperate waters. No pun intended."

"None taken, Team Leader."

Lupo was well-read. There was a lot of free time in between intensely unpleasant work, while she had been with the French Foreign Legion. Like most typical soldiers around the world, she had taken up an interest in military history. During her down time with the legion, she poured over all sorts of history books related to the art of war and conflict. From what she remembered, Battleships had been outdated by the arrival of Aircraft Carriers. And this was during World War II. Whatever surviving Battleships that were out there, were museums now.

"You sure it's a Battleship?" The bookstore's inner gates shook. It seemed sturdy and was connected to the rest of the building's skeleton. It was old school architecture at its best. But this wasn't going to last forever.

"Roger that. It's from the Battleship USS Iowa. The rumors are true. Senator Benford and what remains of the government are evacuating North America. They have a makeshift fleet."

Vector updated Lupo.

"It's where we'll be extracting our High Valued Target to."

"Who is he?"

"Lord Alfred Ashford."


	3. Exchange

Chapter 03: 'Exchange'

With a titanic crackle of smoke and thunder, three Mark 8 "Super-Heavy" shells were shot out from one of the Battleship USS Iowa's 16-inch guns. She had been situated in the Port of Los Perdidos having had undergo refitting, some twenty miles out in San Fernando due south. Fired with the help of an analog computer and coordinates on a map, the shells made a 24 mile journey to strike at the dense edge of southern Downtown Los Perdidos. The naval strike flattened entire city blocks, caused two large business skyscrapers to come down on one another, and had instantly incinerated anyone unlucky enough to be caught in its blast radius.

Concrete buckled underneath the super-heated explosion of the giant naval shells. Bodies ruptured from the force within the limits of its kill zones, and debris would maim the rest.

 **23: 45 Pacific Standard Time  
** **The Last Bookstore, Downtown Los Perdidos**

=[]=

A gloved hand pushed and grappled against a fallen bookshelf, as a trapped figure underneath struggled to get free. There was a grunt, followed by the low growl of a woman attempting to heave a very solid-appearing bookshelf off of herself. With some effort, Lupo overturned the heavy piece of furniture, apparently made out of redwood. She first got on her knees, than to her feet, finding herself in the remnants of what had once been a multi-storied building with no roof.

The Frenchwoman scanned right and then left, hands quickly having had moved for her sidearm after finding her assault rifle MIA. She had a tactical hatchet in its scabbard as well, but that wasn't the correct tool given the current situation.

"Stay concentrated, LesProux." Lupo whispered to herself.

She scanned what remained of the main floor to the bookstore. Apparently at one point, when it had been in better shape, it was home to old and new literary products. There must have been some vintage reading material as well, since Lupo smelled the hint of something old and musty through the confines of her cracked respirator. Some art pieces had been displayed as well. All in all, the décor was 'hipster'; that trendy bullshit that was popular in American urban centers. In reality it was all just poor imitation of French-styled post-modernism.

Lupo caught the glimpse of movement from her left and repositioned herself in that direction, prepared for combat but only encountering the likes of…. There was nothing. She turned to cover her rear, and continued to constantly scan around with slow but methodical head movements as to maintain her situational awareness. It was never enough to handle a firearm well, a true soldier needed to have absolute clarity about his or her surroundings.

After having had rounded the corner of the remains of an iron 1920s-styled staircase, the French Woman found herself with her pistol drawn at a darkly colored and gruesomely painted mannequin, still standing on the hinges of its display. Lupo's FN Five-Seven pistol had been ready to pierce three holes into the armature art-piece, only instinct and training held her back from wasting rounds that may become precious in the next second or here on after. Working for Umbrella, one needed that third intuitive combat sense. One under their employment does not last long without it.

She eyed the mannequin. It had been an art piece, a grotesque makeshift sculpture, made by some young kid, signifying or revealing… what? Agent Lupo couldn't imagine that there were many civilians out there that had first-hand experience of bio-organic warfare. There simply were not enough survivors or witnesses of a T-Virus incident. Too many stories out there had simply been second hand tales.

They were not there.

They didn't know.

And they…

A hairy and pudgy hand gripped Lupo's right arm. She spun to face her attacker, surprise and suppressed shock apparent on her face. It was the naked man from earlier. He was same creeper that had been keeping watch on Lupo and her compatriots from the 6th floor of that godforsaken building. Closer, Lupo also got a chance to smell him through her damaged respirator. It wasn't the scent of the rotting dead, no nothing like that, but it was foul. It was like sweat, and dog shit.

"You're a pretty little frog, aren't you?" said the repugnant man with that same large smile.

Lupo wished she had a one liner, but this soldier of Umbrella wasn't like that. She was practical. Her mind immediately forced all the fear from consciousness. She simply kept focus, as a step was taken back, then forward as the French woman rushed head on towards her attacker. They were both on the floor a second later, with the black clad woman straggling him.

The man was strong. But Lupo had been fast. Lupo had been trained. She sat at an awkward angle. She was difficult to push off. She was also frantically bashing the man's face in with the butt of her handgun. Again, it was a practical, if not painful affair. This man's nose was a priority target. A shattered nose help to render the enemy's vision combat ineffective. She also screamed. The French woman had nothing to say, so instead she screamed. It was the battle cry of a woman tapping into the soul-splintering torment of anguished rage.

Afterwards Lupo crushed the naked man's windpipe.

=[]=

 **00: 59 Pacific Standard Time  
** **Inside Transport, Downtown Los Perdidos**

When he came to, the Umbrella commando thought he was in the middle of an emergency medical evacuation. With twisted features, the Japanese man had tried to rise. There seemed to have been movement. Everything was in flux, the walls, the armored floor… Vector deduced he was in some sort of transportation vehicle. Someone was moving him. It couldn't be the United States Military; they couldn't give two shits about corporate assets. But was it Umbrella? Were they going to take him out of the fight?

'Death' couldn't allow for that…

A dark man in olive-drab green combat fatigues and medical insignias quickly came over to try and strap him back down. Vector pushed him off, punching the man's face in the process. There had been a crack, and the man whose only sin was simply doing his job began to profusely bleed from his face.

"You cannot take me out of the combat zone!"

Vector's drastic actions had earned him the ire of more men that had been apparently with him. They began to try and help strap him back to his stretcher. The men had attempted to be gentle. When that was impossibility, they began to brutally restrain him. In the process, the Japanese man's gasmask was knocked off. He used everything in his power to escape. Heads were bashed. IV needles were used as make shift weapons. One of the green fatigued men had an eye gouged out.

"I STILL HAVE MY MISSION!" Vector roared.

"As I have mine!" responded someone else.

A brass knuckle connected at full force to the side of Vector's now uncovered face. It smashed into his temple. The Umbrella commando instantly went limp, crumbled into the stretcher that at this point was no longer constraining him.

"SIR!" some of the men in green uniforms startled.

The man that knocked out the Umbrella commando made to remove the brass knuckles. He was a man in his early 50s. Various scars and lines on his face told the story of someone perpetually stuck in bad circumstances. The black hair and phenotype told of a Hispanic or perhaps South American heritage. Still, the grim neutrality of his face told of better days in the past. He wore a shoulder holster and chest rig stuffed with magazines upon magazines of ammunition. On this rugged man's head was topped a meticulously kept military beret.

One with patches and the words: Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service.

"Don't call me sir, Niño."

His voice was energetic, experienced, but hopelessly tired.

"I work for a living. Director Oliveira… will do just fine."

=[]=

"Director!" motioned one of the olive-drab clad men. "We'll be approaching the rendezvous in five seconds. The temporary F.O.B. (Forward Operating Base) set up by command is hot."

"If it ain't easy, the UBCS don't do it." Oliveira responded with a gruff demeanor. He reached into his breast pocket to obtain a large half-smoked cigar.

"Sir, it is against company regulations to smoke in the armored transport!"

Oliveira glanced over to the man who said that. A 'lowly' vehicle commander starred firmly back behind his foggy yellow-tinted ballistic goggles. The Director chuckled and then shook his head. From the breast pocket opposite of the one that held a half-consumed cigar, Oliveira dug for a lighter. Before anyone could, dared, or even tried to stop him, this grizzled South American man had lit up and began puffing away.

"You know…" began the Director.

"This isn't a public security force or anything like that mierda. Let me tell you something, ah? Saying the wrong things, to the wrong people, at the wrong time, can get you incinerated alive in a biological waste disposal plant. Now you know, I may not be like that, but our employers…."

Director Oliveira hacked and then spat out a disgusting-brown glob onto the armored vehicle's floor.

"Our employers are something else altogether..."

=[]=

 **01: 15 Pacific Standard Time  
** **Exchange Dance Club, Downtown Los Perdidos**

"More of these shit bags." muttered Lupo from the remnants of her respirator.

She sat on top of a VTP-1 Orca, one of the largest and heaviest wheel armored personnel carriers ever developed. It had a crew of two men; a commander and a driver, 6mm-16mm high-hardness steel armor, topped with an Mk.19 automatic grenade launching system. However, its crowning achievement was its ability to carry 16 men inside. Yet, that had not been enough. An additional eight men rode topside with her on this whale of a vehicle.

"Shit, they're coming!" One olive-drab uniformed bonehead was doing his duty of pointing out the obvious to his comrades. The sensible ones started to fire. Others began to unload and take up fighting positions when the Orca stopped. Yet some seemed to have… retreated? Tactically ran away? It wasn't her place to say.

Lupo dropped off the rear of the vehicle in front of a concrete-layered gate. These olive-drab dressed men were obviously Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. She had been in the middle of a killing frenzy back at the destroyed and toppled over five-story building when they had picked her and the survivors of Wolfpack up. Something about Umbrella's high leveled goons wanting to see her in particular. It was a standard affair, though Lupo treated it as professionally as possible, she didn't exactly care for the power nuances of her employers.

The French woman got into position in one of the fighting holes of the concrete-layered gate. It was a makeshift construction, similar to the concrete blocks that the United States Military used in Iraq. Lupo noticed that it only closed the entry of a large 1920's styled office building. It seemed to have been made out of black granite, and was apparently sturdy enough to not be affected by the earlier shore bombardment as evident by adjacent structures.

Plastered on the black building, was signage and advertisements for the latest electronic DJs and events in Downtown Los Perdidos. There had also been the name of this place: 'Exchange-LP'. One way or another, they had all arrived at the night club.

"Ma'am, X... Ashford... wants to see you.." A U.B.C.S. woman had appeared to Lupo's rear with instructions. The soldier of Umbrella had turned around somewhat startled, ready to shoot two holes into her.

The U.B.C.S. woman must have been cute, if not pretty in her younger years. She had large green eyes and wide lips that seemed a bit sad. Her auburn hair was graying and the wrinkles around her eyes told the story of someone forced into servitude if not downright slavery. She had a pink choker with some sort of tracking and monitoring device on it. Her outfit was uniformed like the rest of the U.B.C.S. men, and she seemed fit enough to survive a zombie apocalypse. There had also been some lettering: 'Chambers- U.B.C.S.'.

Lupo frowned inside. Something about that name bothered her. It reminded her of a card that wasn't played during a high-stakes game. Or maybe an enemy that vengeance had forgotten to take.

"Ashford… very well, what about my men?" said Lupo in a rather calm sounding voice.

The U.B.C.S. platoon which had accompanied the French woman began to fire from all sides. An incoming horde of crazed locals were descending upon them. Lupo noticed that some had pitchforks and torches of fire this time. It would have been comical, if not for the fact that they ripped through one of the fleeting mercenaries with bloody glee as he had tried to escape from combat earlier.

"They can wait outside. We'll try to take care of your combat casualties as well..." The woman proceeds to point at the Orca APC (Armored Personnel Carrier), where Four-Eyes and two other U.B.C.S. soldiers were carrying out Vector on a stretcher. Behind them, a grizzled South American man in a U.B.C.S. beret stepped out. He fired from some sort of SIG pistol and began rallying the men.

"What about..?" Lupo continued. Her voice was distant and professional, as if emotions had not existed.

Almost on-que, two U.B.C.S. mercenaries dragged out the remains of 'LONE WOLF'.

Jack was missing half his body from the waist down.

 **=[Author's Note]=**  
Thank you, Katie-Hellsing1997!


	4. Ashford

Chapter 04: 'Ashford'

 **01: 25 Pacific Standard Time  
** **Exchange Dance Club, Downtown Los Perdidos**

They had an intimidating aurora about them. It was in the way they moved. The way they had vigorously shoved their prisoners down. Their equipment was tactical and brutal. Steel-tipped combat boots, meeting thousands of dollars' worth of designer dresses and shirts. They kept control too, side arms were pulled from their leg holsters, and pistol whippings to the death were not only threatened but carried out to any of their captives that dared to resist.

"Hands up where I can see them!"

"Don't you stare back at me, boy!"

"Get on your knees, prisoner."

Body language was keyed. These men obviously held themselves in high regard. Amongst the Special Forces community in the United States, elite military formations often carried a sort of arrogant swagger. Delta Force didn't believe in safeties for their weapons. Force Recon boasted that they kept hell packed with fresh bodies on the daily. These men, these brutal soldiers that were handling a crowd of prisoners, had considered themselves an elite unit, commandos of sorts.

Perhaps they had been the next generation of U.S.S. soldiers. They were all masked. Each wore infrared goggles. And there had been Umbrella Corporation logos velcroed to their military uniforms.

"Help!" screamed a suited man, an Armani fan. He wore rings that were as fancy as they looked heavy.

The suited man had been begging to Lupo.

She stepped past the man, not even bothering to return his desperate gaze. One of the black clad Umbrella Commandos walked over, picked him up, and proceeded to viciously smash him up against s a blood soaked wall. Around him were body parts. They made up of what might have been two dozen fucked up bodies.

He was joined by an extremely beautiful woman in an equally provocative outfit. There was also a pudgy man with golden suspenders, an extremely handsome older man with an opened collared shirt, and what seemed like an official from the local police department.

An abstract tree from some unknown artist hung behind them as a sort of sick and ironic background.

From their defiant expressions and demeanors, it was obvious that they all came from high-society. This group of prisoners could not believe that they were being treated like this. Yet once upon a time, when the world had been a little saner, they had subjected their subordinates to far worst. They still yet believed that their money and status could be a bargaining chip.

Little did they know of the fate that was to become of them...

"You can't fuck do this!"

"I have rights!"

"They'll never get away with this!"

"I have ki-"

-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-

A heavy barrage of gunfire silenced them.

-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA

The unit of Umbrella Commandos had taken aim and simply unloaded every equipped firearm at their disposal. Bodies were smashed and eviscerated by the sheer volume of bullets that had been dispensed. There was a small flood of bullet casings that swarmed against Lupo's boots. It was soon followed by a pool of strangely mixed crimson, yellow, and….

"Cease fire!" ordered one of the Umbrella Commandos.

'What a waste of bullets' thought Lupo.

The French woman could still hear the roar of combat from gunfire happening outside. Between the small platoon of U.B.C.S. mercenaries and her own surviving men, there existed an ocean of human insanity that wanted to tear her apart.

"This way, Lupo." ordered Chambers.

"Right…"

Lupo had stepped over the blood drenched bullet casings to go up a flight of stairs. Meanwhile, the Umbrella Commandos continued their gristly task. A new batch was rounded up from the group of prisoners earmarked for extermination.

She did her best to ignore the shouts and screams of indignation as she made her way towards the central dance floor of Exchange.

=[]=

Most of the 'Exchange' nightclub had been decorated to appear flashy with a dash of the avant-garde. There were the typical United States' West Coast celebrity-home inspired sleek walls and lush royal carpets. It had become a popular combination in this part of town these past few years. But the central dance floor located on the second floor was something else altogether.

The bar area was obviously converted from a series of working offices. And the DJ was situated on a platform to where financial information regarding stocks had once been electronically displayed. At one point, this entire room had been the central hub of Los Perdidos' stock exchange.

Now it was a makeshift base for the Umbrella Corporation.

"Come in, come in, and don't be shy!" welcomed a man with a massive gray trench coat and a tactical vest.

Lupo eyed him carefully.

"I trust Tactical Officer Chambers, was good to you, no?"

Chambers had Lupo inside through a stoic-looking set of hardwood double doors.

The man had a wry smile. The fact that he stood on some sort of elevated platform in front of a mega theatre-like digital display screen, spanning an entire wall some 12,000 square feet wide, only made him look far larger and far more imposing.

"My name is Alfred Ashford." He began with his arms raised.

There were sixty make-shift work stations all around his singular raised platform. Men and women that looked like they belonged in an office worked frantically. Various updates on the wall's screen, at various locations on its massive surface, came and disappeared about every five seconds. Mingled among them had been personnel in lab coats.

They seem to be offering an assortment of assessments that only drew ire and discomfort from the office bee-workers. Something was wrong.

"The son of Edward and steward of the Veronica Dynasty!" the man continued. There must have been some coordination as an Umbrella logo sudden flashed when he suddenly leaped off the platform to greet Lupo.

Some of the lab workers threw a fit when their data updates disappeared. Others were in annoyed disbelief.

"I am the 7th Earl of the illustrious Ashford family. It is with great pleasure, that I welcome you to my humble, but temporary abode."

'Who the fuck is this guy?' thought Lupo wordlessly.

"You are dismissed, Rebecca." He then motioned the other woman to come to him.

The French woman stalked past a collection of corporate paper-pushers and lab monkeys. While striding past everyone else not privy to what the Umbrella Executive had to show and say, she had caught glimpse of a strange capsule-like computer system.

It was a processing mainframe encased in a unit of red liquid. This was likely some sort of cooling system. There was an external camera in the shape of a perfectly round circle. The unit was attached to a set of mechanical rails that must have lent it the ability to move around and scan the room like the eye of some robotic-god. It was some 2001: Space Odyssey bullshit. A half a dozen people were inputting something into the computer at any given time. There had been multiple terminals for multiple users to this computer. But what was most strange about this machine was that corpse that was somehow linked up to it through a series of tubes and wires, like some sort of biological hard drive.

The 'dead' man was striking.

He was young once, and muscular to boot.

He had blonde hair…

And he had handsome features that seemed somehow...cruel and calculating.

Whoever he was, the Umbrella Corporation had fucked his shit up. An arm and the complete right side of the man's body were missing. They didn't even bother to remove him from his dark and obviously soiled uniform. They just haphazardly hooked him up to the computer's mainframe. All sorts of medical tubes and cables were linked directly from the corpse to the machine. The corpse had strange eyes as well. They were a sickly yellow against hateful dark red pupils.

And they moved to follow Lupo's movements through a pair of cracked sunglasses.

A white colored gloved hand clasped the French woman's left shoulder. A surge of energy thundered throughout Lupo's body. She turned to face the Umbrella Executive. There was nothing that Lupo could do, save to tolerate the intolerable. Once more, she relied on her training from the days with the Legion. Overtly offending the top brass of Umbrella, often-a-times, carried a collection of terrible consequences.

"Oh, don't mind Wesker. We use whatever remains of his consciousness to help compute our wargames against Saddler and his army."

"What happened to this poor bastard?"

"Obviously, you must have observed what is happened down below, first floor, when Rebecca brought you in. No mercy for the misguided. The enemies of Umbrella must be punished. It is our business. It is MY business!" Ashford smirked.

"Shit…" Lupo began.

The French woman remained a loyalist during Operation Raccoon City.

She didn't betray Umbrella.

She couldn't. She had to take care of-

'Mama'

Inside her mind's eye, her child had still been there.

"-But we have more important matters at hand."

Lupo pushed herself outside of her thoughts. She pushed outside of her repressed memories. She was a soldier; as such she had remained committed. Just like in France. Just like with her family. Just like with what remained of her family.

"Yes sir."

She focused her attention on the Executive's words.

"Now" he beckoned Lupo to focus her attention at the room's large overhead display.

"We're losing this war."

That much had been obvious to Lupo for a while. It had been a fighting retreat ever since her reactivation at the HIVE complex in the state of Louisiana. And that was less than a month ago.

"The Red Queen, working with what intelligence that the military deemed appropriate to share with us, is predicting that the Los Iluminados will completely overrun North America in a week's time." The Ashford man paused abruptly to adjust his coyote-brown tactical plate carrier. It hung over an exquisite Ermenegildo Zegna Bespoke trench coat.

Lupo immediately noticed the White Umbrella's Security Services Forces patch he had velcroed onto the vest. What a strange sight, the French woman did not recall the White Umbrella branch having its own Security Services department.

"Umbrella did not survive Operation Raccoon City, just to be overcome by a group of parasite-infected fanatics. We did not come so close just to die."

Lupo was beginning to grow tired of this Ashford man's dramatic antics.

"So what is the mission?"

Ashford shrugged.

"The standard affair – you and your team have a retrieval operation."

"A retrieval operation? "

Lupo was suddenly reminded of the mission to seize the G-Virus from Birkin's Lab.

"You need something recovered, sir?"

Ashford's smirk came back and he stuck his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

"It is codenamed: Operation Veronica."

He cleared his throat.

The wall-spanning large scale digital display behind Ashford began to project a section of North America. There followed a collection of icons. Some indicated colossal crashes with the United States Army. Others indicated an Umbrella-led covert operation. All were in vain, as friendly casualties mounted. Umbrella facilities were keyed, and then one by one, they disappeared. Even the mighty HIVE complex, had been overwhelmed. Saddler took it. A shade of red then started to populate the map. Marked as the main enemy force, it started to sweep the entire map. From East Coast, to West Coast, until nearly everything that was United States territory, became a part of Saddler's mad kingdom.

"Everything they touched, the Los Iluminados transforms. They repurpose land, factories, entire cities and people over night. The use of that… Plaga, makes subjugating the local population a matter of child's play. Using the very building blocks of our society, they are reshaping the territory they've conquered like Legos. This allows them to introduce new technologies on the battlefield, new tactics, and worst on the whim."

Lupo had nothing to say, so Ashford continued.

"Agent Yamata, your Four-Eyes had sent us ultrasound recordings of the enemy."

The corporate office workers stole glances at Ashford and Lupo every now and then. But none of them seemed to have anything to say either. They all had this worried expression on their faces. Like they had been given a major assignment overnight and they were running out of time.

"We compared them to earlier samples and had made an amazing discovery."

This wasn't too far from the objective truth. The end was coming.

"The enemy uses ultrasound to communicate. But it is… a trivial piece of information."

Lupo raised a brow.

"What do you mean? If we have their lines of communication, if we know how they talk, can't we figure out when and how they're going to attack and stop them? We can spoof their channels, fool and blindside the bastards!"

"Not quite." Ashford tore off the white glove from his right hand. It seemed to have been mangled from some prior altercation. He then ran it across his slick raven-black hair.

"You see, Red Queen has finished analyzing their communication methods. Results are nothing good. Our specialists agree. There doesn't seem to be a way of cracking their messages.

Lupo scoffed. The Umbrella Corporation had always been at the cutting edge in terms of technology and innovation. Nine out of ten households had one of their products. How could they be stumped by some backwater cultists? This seemed like a terrible joke.

"Are you amused?"

She suppressed herself.

"No sir."

Ashford frowned and then continued.

"The enemy communicates through ultrasound. That is not the problem. The problem is that their 'language' is almost like code. And we do not have the Rosetta stone to help decipher it. Information is encrypted into packets which are relayed to some sort of central command and control. This seems to be processed into returning Orders."

He glared into Lupo's eyes and tried to make sure that she understood all this.

"Orders which are relayed back as incomplete data packets to be put together by parasite-infected personnel on the front line. We THINK they are some sort of 'Hive Mind'."

=[]=

'Jill Valentine'

It had a nice ring to it. That was her name, wasn't it? She couldn't be sure. It's been a while since she's had a name. Not that it mattered. She didn't age. She didn't sleep. She didn't feel.

She was always numbed.

And she was perched on a catwalk, high above the Umbrella Soldier and the Umbrella Executive.

A large military-grade tactical poncho had been draped over her. It hid the oceanic digital-camouflaged battlesuit and her pair of CZ Scorpion Evo-3 submachineguns. A large bird-like mask decked her face. Through its enhanced observation lenses, she had kept watch on him.

That man who introduced P30 into her life.

The man whom she was sworn? No…. ordered…. to protect.

The man that was just secretly a pretender.

The man that wasn't an Ashford at all.


	5. Leave

Chapter 05: 'Leave'  
|| _I am still haunted by the Ghost of You_ ||

The team was shattering. Their group unity was coming apart at the seams. To that, Lupo had no doubt. She descended down the stairs from the dance floor to rendezvous with the remains of the Wolfpack. Her team was now more solemn than usual. In a strange way, it tugged at her.

"Sir, where is our HVT?"

Vector had always been robotic. But now, more than ever, he was going on autopilot. The Japanese man was defaulting on his training. This made a certain sense to Lupo. Under traumatic circumstances, people felled to the lowest level of their training. It was Special Forces creed. Besides, Karena had intimate experience with this.

"Our mission has changed." Lupo breathed.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw 'LONE WOLF'. He was missing his bottom half. The entrails and gore had blended in with his flamboyant red uniform. A shot of emotion ruptured through the cold and tired eyes of Lupo, and for a second she made towards her dead comrade.

"Jack!"

A strong arm firmly brushed up against her chest. The Japanese man held her in place.

"He's dead."

At first, Lupo just tried to forcedly move the arm away. But when Vector tried to get in her way, the French woman allowed for her emotions to take over. She shoved Vector to the floor and defiantly stalked over to Jack's body. The dead man was mauled by horrific wounds. Chunks of flesh and uniform had been missing. It was very obvious that he had died from being pulled apart by the crowd.

"Don't."

She removed the aviation helmet from his face. A man in his late twenties starred back at her. His eyes were milky and dead. Just like…

"We don't always need these masks."

Lupo began.

"But we always wear them. We wear them, so we can be something else during the mission. We wear them, as we wear the monsters from the inside of our hearts. They are the reflection of our true nature. It is a part of us, our sin and all."

The French woman reached over to Jack's face. She ran a gloved hand through his once handsome features. She ruffled his hair, closed his dead starring eyes, and then took his Umbrella Corporation issued dog tags.

"I think we should let go of these things in death. Ne pensez-vous pas?"

Vector now stood tall behind her, as she was crotched over. The unblinking gaze of his large illuminated eyes was bearing down at her. The Japanese man seemed to be in deep contemplation. As Lupo begrudgingly considered, so was she. They were similar in this way, not like the others. Not psychotic, but mechanic, theirs was the existence of cogs.

The Japanese man offered the French woman a hand.

=[]=

 **02: 05 Pacific Standard Time  
** **Outside of Exchange Dance Club, Downtown Los Perdidos**

++Transmitting: USS Command++

-to ensure Umbrella and mankind's survival, Saddler and the Los Iluminados must be stopped. Recover the Veronica Project. Return it back to headquarters. Link 'it' up to the Red Queen. And maybe, just maybe we'll have a weapon strong enough to stop them. Umbrella Security Service Task Force, this is your final set of orders.

Commence Operation Veronica.

++Transmission: End++

Wolfpack's new orders had been relayed through a collection of images and audio via 3D projection that augmented real space.

"What about Ashford?"

Agent Yamata half asked, half wondered out loud.

"Forget about him."

Vector killed the augmented reality (AR) display. He picked up the AR projection device and proceeded to stow it away in his MOLLE drop pouch. Something in the air told him that it'll be a while before Command had any updates for Wolfpack. Not that it mattered. No matter who was running USS Command, before or after Operation Raccoon City, they've always seem to have it in them to try and get the U.S.S. team killed.

A burst of gunfire from Lupo had drawn the two's attention.

Lupo and Vector locked eyes. "Fuck him, we have to leave."

Four-Eyes glanced at the two.

"I thought our mission was the HVT?"

The French woman and the Japanese man ignored their field scientist. They were in the process of 'flipping their switches'. Having had stowed the AR communication device away, Vector was busy shouldering his Howa rifle and putting rounds down range. The hordes of humanoid freaks were assaulting the Umbrella F.O.B. (Forward Operating Base) in full force now.

Vector was joining Lupo and the U.B.C.S. mercenaries in defending the rapidly collapsing perimeter. His gunfire joined hers. She covered when he reloaded. He scanned when she engaged priority targets. She covered the fields of fire that he didn't. He did likewise for her. Such was the unity of combat.

"Our mission has been updated." Had responded Vector, like some computer program that lagged due to a delay in processing. "I hope you're catching up."

Four-Eyes checked her wearable forearm computer.

"That wasn't what I was referring to. But never mind that. We have other matters to attend to."

The horde continued to press their attack. Although the members of Wolfpack would be reminded of the shambling undead of Raccoon City, these possessed vagabonds were anything but. Their eyes shimmered with a type of intelligence as they worked together to remove the erected cement barriers. Umbrella mercenaries had been dragged from their post, as they stopped to reload. Slowly, the abnormal inhabitants of Los Perdidos were retaking their city from the Umbrella Corporation.

"Stand aside! Make way!" A voice commanded.

It was an order from one of Ashford's goons. A group of gas-masked thugs barged from the former dance club. Four of them labored to move the rectangular box that housed the Red Queen computer system. Behind them, waltzed Alfred Ashford himself, dandy trench coat in full glory.

"Indeed, make way!"

The Ashford man was still smirking with his usual arrogant swagger. As he passed by Lupo, the Umbrella exec flashed a wink, followed by a mock salute. The smirk reminded Lupo of a shark smiling in the deep seas before it feed. It was then that Ashford and his men demanded that the U.B.C.S. mercenaries turned over their armored personnel carrier. Since the exec and his lackeys were basically at the top of the corporate food chain, there had been no choice. With that, they loaded up the Red Queen and mounted themselves into the vehicle. A moment later, they were smashing into assaulting crowd and making a dramatic getaway.

"I meant to say that the HVT could have helped us escape."

Four-Eyes said to no one, as Wolfpack and the U.B.C.S. mercenaries scrambled to survive the oncoming onslaught of stinking human flesh.

=[]=

Rebecca Chambers was getting too old for this. She put a bullet into the face of the man who had pulled her to the ground and had been trying to strangle her. Years ago, after the Mansion Incident, she had been haunted by the memories of having had encountered corpses reanimated by the Tyrant Virus. But ever since Umbrella was able to bury the truth, kill her friends, taken control of her life, made her see things that no man or woman should ever see, all that she felt now, was numbness.

"Fuck you."

She said that to no one in particular. Her attacker was a heavy set man in a blue flannel. Rolling his fat body off her petite frame was an excruciating endeavor. It reminded her of the undead creatures. Except in this instance, the subject was somewhat more alive. Still, she wasn't sure which was worse or worst.

Rebecca scrambled to her feet. She had been mere inches from the M939 five-ton flatbed truck. The Umbrella Corporation bought them from the military for the U.B.C.S. some years ago. Rumor had it that they were old overpriced leftovers from a secret skirmish between the United States and Soviet militaries on some foreign island in the 80s. Whatever the case, it was all irrelevant right that second. Rebecca was ordered to recover it, swing to the front of the dance club some six blocks away, pickup Wolfpack, and basically get the fuck out of Dodge.

'Simple enough' she thought.

As she hopped into the oversized military vehicle, a drooling woman in red grabbed Rebecca by the left arm and attempted to drag her back out. Rebecca pistol whipped the salivating woman with her Beretta pistol and then went to close and lock the doors.

"Jesus Christ."

More were converging onto her location now. Shadows elongated into possessed crazies and hands grasped at the handle of her vehicle. A few were banging away at her window.

Panic gripped Rebecca as she plugged in a key into the ignition switch. They were catching her with her pants down. Was this how Chris Redfield died? She couldn't help but wonder this question after so many years. Did he die fighting? Even as a group of thugs in black fatigues cornered and shot him dead like some wounded animal? She remembered the tapes that Umbrella had forced her to watch.

And then she felt nothing. Nothing except the blind obedience to follow her orders to the letter. It is because after all of the beating, the threats, and the things that were carried out against her, she caved in. She took their money, their college tuition, their employment, their 'meager' six-figure income for her research work, their assignment for this mission as a tactical officer.

Age numbed her life.

=[]=

 **03: 33 Pacific Standard Time  
** **7th and Grand Street, Downtown Los Perdidos**

"We'll rendezvous with your team in hell."

Those were Director Carlos Oliveira's last words as he and his mercenaries sacrificed themselves in creating an opening for Wolfpack to escape. A gunfire and incendiary grenade induced opening in the crowd of lunatics allowed for Lupo's team to escape into one alleyway and to dodge into the next. There was minimal fighting. They ran and ran until battery acid pumped through each of their systems.

"Why…" Vector gasped through huffing breaths inside his mask. "Why did he do that?"

Lupo positioned her Type-97 assault rifle at her hip. She pulled up the team's rear and covered them as they attempted to catch their individual breaths.

"Director Oliveira knew him and his men's real mission. They were pawns."

Four-Eyes reloaded her Steyr TMP submachine gun.

"They must have been part of a greater experiment?"

Vector incredulously shook his masked face.

"I thought we had a mission! Now we're all expendable assets again?!"

Lupo's eyes narrowed.

"Ashford, his men, and us- Wolfpack, we're the Corporation's last remaining cards in play."

The Japan woman looked up.

"What about the United States Military?"

Wolfpack's team leader scoffed through her respiration device.

"They're finished. The enemy is just mopping up. Umbrella's only hope is to acquire the Veronica Project and to create some sort of weapon similar to what the enemy is deploying against us."

Lupo stalled for a bit, thoughtfully.

"Furthermore, something tells me that we're only one option of a few left. Command is scattering its last chances, ensuring that multiple routes towards success is possible. We're only one play, in the race towards the end. Call it financial diversification."

"And that's it?"

Vector and Lupo exchanged glances.

"I'm afraid-"

The French woman was cut off by a static infused transmission from her comms.

"Breaker! Breaker! One-Nine, this is Tactical Officer Rebecca Chambers of the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. Is anyone out there? Wolfpack, where the fuck are you? Switch to channel 19!"

*** Joint Tactical Radio System***  
[Channel One-Nine]

/Transcript as Follows:

Lupo: Rebecca, this is Wolfpack Actual, over.

Rebecca: Wolfpack Actual, this is Chambers, over.

Lupo: Chambers authenticate Code-Three-Three-Three, over.

Rebecca: Wolfpack Actual, verify Nemesis, over.

Lupo: Chambers, authentication success, over.

Rebecca: Wolfpack, where the fuck are you? Over!

Lupo: Chambers, we are on map grid X: 34 Y: 118 cross streets 7th and Grand, do you copy?

Rebecca: Wolfpack, how did you end up- never mind. I am coming to you, over.

Lupo: Chambers, we're by a nearby pub. Deer head signage. You can't miss it, over.

Rebecca: Solid copy, I'll come pick you up there. Stay the fuck alive, over and out.

/End of Transcript*


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